


Xerxesian Charity

by willowoftheriver



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Breastfeeding, Breasts, Canon Blending, Childbirth, F/M, Female Edward Elric, Fuhrer Roy Mustang, I'm Going to Hell, Lactation Kink, Milk, Mood Whiplash, Not Canon Compliant, Twins, What Have I Done, i feel kinda dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoftheriver/pseuds/willowoftheriver
Summary: Edaline's given birth, and now comes the part she's been dreading the most--breastfeeding. (Because it involves milk.)Roy's not squeamish, though.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 172





	Xerxesian Charity

It had, honestly, been a miracle.

A common one, sure. Women did it every day, in every country, so it’s not like viewing the Gate, or anything along those lines. But it had still been somehow even bigger, because she’d done that one thing that no alchemy could ever, _should ever_ , manage—she’d taken something that seemed so inert and ubiquitous and painstakingly turned it into a _breathing_ being. She’d created life from nothing except the vaguest potential there in her abdomen.

Twice. At the same time.

And Fuhrer Bastard really had been a smug ass about that, as though his ten seconds or so of climaxing pleasure after a vigorous fuck had somehow directly correlated to the immensity of the nine torturous months of growth in her womb.

Even worse, though, had been the doctors that first tried to coach her into useless methods of breathing and then, as the first one crowned, told her she’d have to push extra hard because she was so _small_.

She’d very nearly crushed every bone in Fuhrer Bastard’s hand at that. And the doctors, to the background noises of his whimpers, had hastily explained that it wasn’t just her—girls so young frequently weren’t quite physically ready for childbirth, especially when it was so complex as delivering twins.

(But she’s nearly eighteen and she doesn’t feel _at all_ young, so she’d just scowled at them all and spat at their excuses. Girls in Risembool delivered earlier than her all the time.)

But nevertheless, she’d braced herself and grabbed Roy’s hand even tighter—ignoring his agonized hiss, because it was only what he deserved after what he’d done to her—and really put her all into clenching her lower muscles.

And it was met with results, as Nina arrived first, then Alexander with only minimal trouble about ten minutes afterwards. And they were a girl/boy pair, just as she’d hoped for and, kind of, planned on.

( _“Alexander_?” the bastard had said, raising an arrogant eyebrow. “You want to name our son after a _dog_?”

“Fuck you,” she’d snapped. “It means I can call him ‘Al’.”)

And Roy did shut up about it eventually, wordless as he held the newborns in each arm. She’d wondered if he’d been thinking what she was, though she doubted it, given that they tended to be on different wavelengths by default.

But that was part of the beauty of it: they didn’t have to be in any kind of unison for this. Discord could even go all the way down and sew itself into flesh and blood, her Xerxesian traits warring with the Xingese ones that always tended to dominate, in spite of how little of the ancestry he possessed. It apparently came to a stalemate, a compromise of gold eyes and black hair for both, but it wasn't just the physical that amazed her.

They were able to come together and force the universe to bring two whole souls into being, and there hadn’t even been anything taken from them in exchange. In fact, the process was nothing remotely like alchemy. That elegance, full of fine lines and perfect circles and delicate balance, was completely beyond her now, but still she could _create_ like she never had before—even if it still seemed really fucking _weird_ to her that life itself can only originate from an act that’s so, ah—well. However much she enjoyed it, _elegance_ didn’t factor into it at all.

It was all so overwhelming that maybe she did cry a little, especially once Roy handed over Nina and Edaline looked into her eyes and saw that same innocence there that her namesake had had until the end. But she made damn sure her face was dry by the time the parade of visitors had made their way into the room.

(While the nurses, at the same time, made sure she was covered from the neck down in a bed jacket and a blanket, because just imagine the _horror_ if anyone, even close relatives, should see the Fuhrer’s wife in even the vaguest state of undress.)

Alphonse was first through the door, of course, as he’d been out there in that waiting room with the patience of a saint for all these hours. He didn’t bother to hold back his happy bawling at all, even as he made silly faces at both twins and managed to choke out a touched, “‘Al’? Really?”

Winry lingered in the doorway, even as Granny Pinako slapped Roy on the back with far more force than was necessary and congratulated them both. It wasn’t that Winry still hated Roy, not really—but Ed had very nearly been in her exact position before, and she understood that that didn’t necessarily translate into complete forgiveness, either. (If only Hohenheim hadn’t left, or maybe if he’d just told her mother _why_ , or maybe—)

Still, Winry took her turn holding each twin, smiling at each of them with rare softness. “They really are so cute. Especially after having to survive nine months with _Edaline_.”

(Ed huffed in exaggerated offense.)

Winry continued: “When are we gonna have one, Al?”

(Alphonse laughed very, very nervously.)

The next few visitors saved him from answering—Gracia and Elysia, Sheska, Hawkeye and the rest of the team, Chris Mustang. Then a while later came the ones Ed would just as well not have seen at all, the high-ranking military sycophants. They all brought their wives, most of them Ed couldn’t name if she even recognized them at all, who surrounded her far too closely as they fawned over Nina and, more disgustingly, Ed herself.

(She was reminded out of nowhere of stuff she’d heard about queens from Aerugo and Creta, who were supposedly flocked by noblewomen trying to be their servants and get their families in favor. Well, Ed was no queen, and Roy handled all that promotion shit.)

The men fawned, too, just as bad, but over her infant son as though he was the next scion of a dynasty. Boxes of cigars piled up on every surface of the room, as did a myriad of other presents—fruit baskets, stuffed toys, cards, and enough flowers that it looked like a fucking greenhouse exploded. Even the military personnel who out and out hated their guts sent something perfunctory for the sake of lip service.

“Are we gonna have to write thank you notes for all this?” Ed demanded, once the last of the unwelcome visitors had finally, finally left.

“I’ll get my secretary on it,” said Roy with a yawn. Then the lazy bastard had the nerve to fall asleep right there in his chair about fifteen minutes later, as though _he_ was the exhausted one. Not even two screaming infants were able to make him so much as twitch.

Edaline, though—oh, no, _Edaline_ wasn’t allowed rest, because the doctor bustled in and cheerfully declared that it was time to feed them.

And there it was—the moment she’d been dreading, even more than hours of agonizing contractions or pushing two full-term fetuses out of a canal that had never previously been stretched wider than what could accommodate Fuhrer Bastard’s cock.

(Because she was _not _a cow!)

Yes, her chest hurt, and it had for practically nine months now. The sensation had slowly morphed over that time from tenderness into tightness, and near the end, they had actually leaked. _Leaked_.

 **Milk**.

She was actually _making_ that most loathsome, disgusting of all beverages. And now she had to inflict it on her own poor children, or they would starve.

They didn’t even seem to like it, anyway, considering they both just mouthed around a bit, her occasionally feeling a pinch and some pressure, but eventually gave up. Alexander promptly spit up onto himself what he’d managed to swallow.

The doctor just laughed and said something about ‘learning to latch’ with time, gently taking Nina to burp. A nurse, who had evidently come in at some point when Ed was overwhelmed with disgust, took Al to clean.

“The colostrum you’re producing is very important for them at this stage, Madame Fuhrer,” the doctor said, so infuriatingly casually. “But I know you’re all very tired right now—” She was too professional to entirely look at the lazy ass in the chair who’d started to softly snore, though her eyes made an aborted movement in that direction. “—so why don’t we take them to the nursery for a few hours?”

Ed kissed them both on their red little wrinkled heads before they were taken away, and the room actually seemed a bit _too_ abruptly quiet once the door shut behind them. But nevertheless, peaceful.

Ed couldn’t help but turn a scowl down towards her chest, where her hand was currently clenching the two sides of her bed jacket together in a white knuckled grip. And slowly, horribly, a little circle of wetness was blooming on one side of the material.

Letting the jacket fall open, _they_ just kind of sprang out, like they thought they were completely inoffensive. But they were bigger than they’d ever been, engorged and kind of veiny, and her nipples actually looked _swollen_ , and as she watched, drops of _milk_ just kept welling to the surface of both.

No, not _just_ milk. _Thick_ , awful, slightly _discolored_ milk.

It was truly a vision of hell.

She rushed to cover it up to stave her off her nausea, hooking her fingers in the neckline of her nightgown where it was pulled down and straining beneath them, but then another hand covered hers, stilling her movement.

“You don’t want our children to grow up to be as . . . fine-boned as you, do you, Edaline?” Smug Bastard asked. (Jackass had probably only been pretending to be asleep to avoid childcare. Then again, maybe he just had some perverted sixth sense that flared whenever her boobs were exposed. She wouldn’t put it past him.)

“Who are you calling _so small_ that—?” she fumed, but it died in her throat in some amalgam of pain and shock when he raised that same hand and cupped one of them, giving it a light squeeze.

“We are in a _hospital_ ,” she managed through bared teeth.

“Uh-hum,” he said, running a thumb over her nipple.

“I just _birthed_ _your children_ —not one, but _two_ —that is _double_ the pain, if your nasty, pervert brain is beyond math—and now you’re—urk—” Whatever she was going to finish that sentence with was lost, dead on arrival as she witnessed him stick his thumb, with a drop of that horrible thick milk running down it, _in his mouth._

He sucked it clean and fucking _smiled_.

“You know,” he said, leaning down over her with arms on either side, boxing her in. His breath was pleasantly warm, with undertones of coffee and cigar smoke. “I read something once about a custom they supposedly had in Xerxes.” He pressed featherlight kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, until she could feel each of his next words brushing against the oversensitive skin of her left breast. “If famine set in, or food was otherwise a bit _short_ . . .”

She didn’t even notice the choice of words, because his tongue darted out to lave at her nipple—an _unpleasant_ sensation, in comparison to how it usually felt when he touched her there—but that only lasted a second before he closed his lips around it and _sucked_.

She jumped, eyes huge, hands flying automatically to his hair as his own found their way to her sides, sliding gently up and down.

“A-are you— _how_ can you— _what the_ —”

She could _feel_ the fucker grin against her, even if that bizarre sensation stayed steady—not so much that she could sense anything flowing out of her, exactly, but she was very aware of him there, determinedly drawing from her, all lips and tongue with a hint of teeth.

Finally, she had the presence of mind to tap him hard on the crown of his head. “It’s not for _you_ , you greedy—”

Dark eyes peered up at her from under the fringe of his hair and finally, with one last mouthful, he pulled away, giving her breast a few soothing licks with the flat of his tongue. “I’m not taking it _all_ ,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to the area he’d just so thoroughly violated. “Just giving you a little relief.”

And then he had the nerve—the _nerve_ —to move to the opposite side. His hands fell to her thighs, not that she could feel anything of them through the layers of blankets save their weight and warmth. It was also entirely dead between her legs except a still-painful throb and the concerning sensation that parts of her insides had been overstretched and rearranged.

But at the same time, she couldn’t stop the shivers that ran up and down her spine the longer his mouth was on her, nor the deepening of her breathing. (Though at least she managed to silently swallow all the little hitches in it.)

He nipped at her teasingly right as he pulled away, then soothed it with a kiss. There was a drop of milk still on his lower lip, but he licked it away as he raised his hands to her chest. He kneaded them, gaze heavy lidded and considering.

“Tasty,” was his final conclusion.

She hit him with a pillow as hard as she could, her free hand ripping her nightgown back into its proper place. “That’s disgusting! I don’t even have the _words_ for how utterly _disgusting_ that is, you freak!”

He just laughed, dodging every projectile she could get her hands on. (She had to concede it was actually kind of impressive, considering that massive hard on that had risen between his legs.)

She was persistent, though, and eventually he fled the room entirely, presumably off to the nearest bathroom to deal with his problem (undoubtedly by making use of his twisted, inappropriate fantasies).

Though, as she raised one hand back to her chest and rubbed a few fingers over the still-swollen flesh, she had to admit that they did feel better.

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck is wrong with me i've disturbed myself
> 
> Ahem, uh ... This obviously doesn't fit into any particular canon, while combining a few elements of both. It's not meant to be overly serious, anyway.
> 
> I was reading some other fem!Ed fics and the hatred of milk just ... led to this.


End file.
